


Purpose

by Olrendis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A dash of Agent of Asgard, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Brotherly Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olrendis/pseuds/Olrendis
Summary: Is purpose something forced upon you by others, by circumstance, by destiny, or is it something you choose for yourself?





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Final warning: contains spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and just a hint of the Loki: Agent of Asgard finale at the end.

 

_Fracture_

 

He can’t quite discern when it all changed. When had he ceased to be his brother’s best friend and equal and become his subordinate? When had he ceased to feel that he belonged?

Perhaps he never had. Perhaps that is why their mother understands him better than anyone else. She is an outsider too, and she has never made him feel othered. She taught him the sorcery of the Vanir, and though he trained with his brother at feats of arms, and is lethal with a blade, it is with magic that he feels most at home.

The moment it all comes crashing down, this moment, he will never forget as long as he lives. The sharp cold of the Casket or Ancient Winters stains his skin Jotun-blue. His self-perception fractures as he listens to their father—no, **Thor’s** father, Odin—listens to **Odin’s** callous explanation of his birth, and the purpose for which he was taken.

Even so, he moves to help the fallen All-father almost before he realizes what he’s doing.

 

* * *

_Burden_

 

He can feel the cold metal grate beneath his knee, and he rises. He can feel sweat glistening on his brow, but not from the effort of the journey. He can feel his body shudder with relief at being finally alone with the Midgardians. He wonders if the strain of the past year shows on his face.

He pulls himself together, and allows himself a tight grin. _This is it_. He grips the scepter like his life depends on it, forcing himself to focus, to channel the Mind Stone to his will. Midgardians are all too easy to overpower, but it’s not only them he came for.

He tells the one-eyed man the truth about his coming, about the glorious purpose he’s been burdened with. That mantra has been driven into him every hour of every day in recent months, wiping out any vestiges of treachery he might have once entertained, stripping away his freedom with the very scepter he now carries.

They were thorough. He almost believes in what he’s telling Fury. Almost.

 

* * *

_Rage_

 

In a twisted way, he missed this: quarreling with his brother, getting up to mischief with him, pushing the boundaries of their power. It hurts, too, more than he’s willing to admit, that the trust between them is broken.

His brother’s words offer truce, so he makes a joke, and for a moment, it’s almost like it once was. There’s sadness in his eyes even as the smile fades. Their mother is dead, and Thor is right. If he’d only been there, if he hadn’t sent the dark elves up to Odin’s chambers...

_Trust my rage_ , he tells his brother, and he can feel it rise in him again, like a serpent coiled to strike. His eyes harden imperceptibly, and he turns his focus to the purpose that brought them there. Vengeance for their mother they will reap together, but there are other plans of which he does not speak.

He will not be caged again. Thor promised him his cell upon their return. He would rather die.

 

* * *

_Home_

 

_You’ll always be the God of Mischief, but you could be more._ His brother’s words are burnt into his memory, resurfacing with irritating frequency, but that’s not the purpose for which he returned.

His brother has just finished adjusting the brass eyepatch over his empty socket. He doesn’t look much like Odin now, but one day, when he’s old... perhaps. They all insist that Asgard isn’t a place, it’s a people, but for him it was never about Asgard. Not really.

He compliments his brother, who smiles. They have come through the fire together yet again. Thor’s eye shines with affection and amusement at his prodigal brother’s return, and he tosses a trinket at what he expects to be his brother’s illusory image. He catches it, allowing a small smile to escape his own lips. For once, he is truly there.

He didn’t expect his brother to follow through with the embrace. With it, he is finally home.

 

* * *

_Sun_

 

Everyone is dead. He and his brother are the only ones still standing, but not for long. He plays the selfish psychopath, but this is one bluff he can’t maintain, not this time. The Titan’s grip tightens on his brother’s skull, and he caves.

The Tesseract shines in his fingertips. He can see his brother doesn’t know whether to be relieved or exasperated, but they are both running out of options. He assures his brother that the sun will shine on them again. The Hulk buys them some time, but even he is no match for Thanos.

The Tesseract is retrieved by the Titan’s minion. He takes a deep breath, hoping Thor will understand, and spins a web of subservient words. This won’t work. He knows it won’t, not now that the Titan has the Tesseract, but he failed Thanos once, and he knows the penalty. And there’s a chance, an impossible chance that his purpose might be something more.

The dagger forms between his fingertips. He’ll take his chances on impossible.

 

* * *

_Moon_

 

He opens his eyes, and he’s no longer in the Titan’s grasp. He’s on the wide plains of Norway, staring at Odin—at his father, calling his name, _Loki, the God of Mischief, the God of Lies_. 

His lips part, to ask his father, to plead with him, _is that is all he is meant to be? Is that his purpose? Lies and betrayal and tricks, and nothing more?_ And Odin smiles at his youngest child, and asks him what a lie **is**. His breath catches, and his mind races. _What a lie **is**?_

When finally he gets it, he almost laughs with the simplicity of it, and the relief. A lie is a tall tale, and ultimately it is just that, a tale. A story told. And stories need not all be lies. His father nods fondly at him, and is gone at his next blink. He stands on the wreckage of Asgard’s future. Their story isn’t over, not yet, but this part of it is, for him at least. He’s going to change again, but this time, the choice is his. He’ll still be himself. First, last, and always.

He is Loki, the God of Stories. The Moon King, the Magic Theatre. It’s definitely an upgrade.


End file.
